


When It Rains

by Drinktothemadness



Series: the 100 drabbles [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, Canon Compliant, F/M, Help, I'm obsessed, Set somewhere towards the end of season one, The 100 - Freeform, haven't written in so long, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 20:50:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3263972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drinktothemadness/pseuds/Drinktothemadness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rainstorm hits the camp that has Clarke feeling under the weather...and for some reason, also has Bellamy extremely and overly concerned for Clarke's welfare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When It Rains

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm doing.

The storm came in from the east, and brought with it by far the heaviest rain the camp had seen in the months they'd been on Earth. It pounded down relentlessly, drenching those forced to remain at their posts outside, leaking through the tent ceilings and flooding the camp floor. 

Clarke ignored the headache building in her temples and busied herself in the medical area, sorting the kit out into organised compartments and making sure her patients were well cared-for. There were no bad injuries at the moment, thankfully - just a few wounds that needed tending to, dressings that needed changing. Once she was sure that she wasn't needed by anyone, she snuck upstairs to the top level of the drop-ship. It was quiet up there. No one ever went past the second floor. 

She must've gotten an hour or two of solitude before she heard the trap door being eased open. She watched as Bellamy climbed out. "Hey," he said brightly. "Thought you might be up here."

"Well, it's...um." Clarke tried to shift slightly so that her body was covering the painting, but she was too slow and Bellamy caught sight of it. "It's quiet."

"What's that?"

She stepped to the side, allowed him a brief look at the picture, and then turned back towards it to carry on painting. It was definitely beginning to take shape, to look like something real. It had taken her a while to compile the makeshift art supplies, but she couldn't be happier with the amount of colours that she'd managed to make just from the berries and leaves surrounding the camp grounds. Earth wasn't all bad.

"I like it," Bellamy said finally. 

"It's nothing."

"It's _good_ ," he argued. Clarke turned to face him, startled by the ferocity in his voice. His expression softened. "I just meant that you're talented, Princess. It's a shame there are no real supplies down here."

Clarke nodded stiffly and turned hack to the wall. She began shading in the waves of the hair, adding depth and movement with the darkest of her colours. It wasn't perfect, but it was something. It was familiar.

"You don't draw pictures of earth anymore, huh?" Bellamy asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her.

She shook her head, ignored the way it trebled the pain. "Not anymore. Earth kind of lost it's magic."

Everyone on the Ark had spent their entire lives dreaming about this place, dreaming about fresh air and about real plants and grass and the sky and the weather and the taste of the water and how it felt to stand on something that was so _real_. Like so many others, it had been just another disappointment that couldn't live up to it's fantasy. Instead of fresh air, Clarke yearned for the safety of the Ark. At least everything up there had been certain. 

"Yeah," Bellamy said. "I know what you mean. It looks like her, though."

Clarke ignored him. The noise of the rain pounding down on the metal of the drop ship was almost soothing, knowing that she was safe and dry inside.

"It's your Mum, right? I recognise her from the radio."

"Bellamy, don't."

"What?" he said. "You miss her."

"She betrayed my father."

"That's not an answer," he said. 

Clarke set down the makeshift brush with a trembling hand. There were hot tears burning her eyes, but she refused to blink, refused to let them fall. She would not show weakness in front of him. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay? She’s up there and we’re down here, so none of the past matters anymore. I’ll probably never see her again.”

“And if you do?”

She glared at him. “I _said_ I didn’t want to talk about it.”

He studied her for a moment, brown eyes flickering across her face. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and shut it again. "Fine," he said flatly. "I'll go check on the guards. See they haven't drowned."

Clarke ignored him again. Eventually, Bellamy got to his feet and headed towards the ladder. He hesitated halfway down, so that just his eyes were peeking over the top of the trapdoor. "You're strong, Princess. But you don't have to be strong enough for us all."

Clarke watched him go.

* * *

The rain continued through the afternoon and on into the evening. After dinner, the levels below started filling up with people. They chatted to one another loudly, glad to be out of the downpour, and the echoing noise worsened the pain in Clarke's head from a dull ache to a sharp thudding. She packed up her painting supplies and snuck down through the levels of the drop-ship and out of the entrance. She sprinted the short distance from the ship to her tent, but by the time she pushed her way through the tarpaulin flaps, she was soaked. Rain ran in rivulets down her face, dripped from her hair. She was cold and wet, but at least it was quiet. 

She'd barely been alone for half an hour before someone else poked their head through the tent opening. 

"Bellamy," she ground out. What was with him today? Why wouldn't he leave her alone? "What are doing here? This tent is personal and private."

He squeezed his way through properly until he was fully inside. "You didn't eat dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

"You have to keep your strength up, Clarke."

"I'm not hungry!"

Bellamy frowned at her. "What's wrong with you today?"

"Nothing."

"Clarke..."

"Nothing, okay? I just...I've got a headache. My head hurts. That's all."

His forehead creased in concern. "Is there nothing from the medical kit you can take for it?"

"Only the emergency painkiller supply. I could've gone to get more but the rain hasn't let up all day."

"Do you want me to go?"

"Don't be an idiot. It's dark and wet, you wouldn't see a grounder if it was stood in front of you. It's too dangerous."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Didn't know you cared about me, Princess."

"If any of them out there are going to survive, they need you," she said flatly. _I need you_.

Bellamy sunk down to the floor, legs outstretched so that his feet were almost touching her. She watched him in the almost-darkness, watched him settle into her blankets. His hair was damp, hanging in dark, wet curls from his forehead. Clarke wanted to lean over and brush them out of his eyes so that she could see them properly.

"What are you doing?" she said instead.

"Getting comfortable," he said. "It's turning into a hurricane out there. I could get hurt on the way back to the drop ship, and we wouldn't want that, would we? Not since I'm so important to everyone's survival and all."

"You're an arsehole."

Bellamy just grinned at her.

* * *

"You look rough."

Clarke looked up from her book. Bellamy was watching her from across the other side of the tent. "Thanks."

"You should have a lie down."

"I'm not tired."

"That's not the point, you need to rest."

"I said I'm fine," she said, annoyed. 

"Well you're doing a pretty good job of pretending otherwise, Princess."

"I told you to stop calling me that," she frowned. "It's catching on with the others. It's bad enough that _you_ think I'm a stuck up privileged little-"

"-I don't think that."

She looked over at him. He was looking at her with an odd expression, something she couldn't quite place. He almost looked _offended_. Could she have got it all wrong? "Well you're doing a pretty good job of pretending otherwise," she said lightly.

He shook his head. "At least have a nap. It will help with your headache."

"I don't need a nap! I'll sleep it off later when everyone else is-"

"-for christ's sake Clarke, would you just _do_ it? This isn't just about you anymore! We need you rested and healthy so that you can be up first thing in the morning when the storm's finished. We've got too much to do to be worrying about you."

Clarke knew he was right, so she rolled her eyes but settled down underneath the blankets like he'd asked. She wouldn't go to sleep, but she would close her eyes for a while to get him off her back. It wasn't worth the fight; no one wanted to deal with a stroppy Bellamy.  

* * *

Clarke jolted awake an hour or so later, shivering violently. Her clothes, damp from the sprint from the drop ship, were cold and clinging to her skin. The temperature inside the tent must have plummeted ten degrees or so since she'd drifted off, and now it was colder than that one night the heat regulation systems in the Ark had malfunctioned. She took a deep gulp of the chilly air and exhaled slowly, watched as it came out white. 

"Hey," Bellamy croaked from the other side of the tent. "You okay, Princess?"

Clarke tried to nod, but her teeth were chattering and her whole body was stiff. 

"Clarke?"

Bellamy's face appeared above her, soft with sleep. He felt her forehead with the back of his hand, and Clarke shuddered away from his touch. His skin was so hot that it burnt. "Hey, hey," he soothed. "It's okay, Princess. You're running a fever."

"I'm f-f-freezing."

His eyebrows furrowed. "Shit. Okay. What do I need to do?"

"Stop the s-storm?"

"I know I'm all-important, but it doesn't mean I'm all-powerful," he muttered. "You should take off your clothes."

Clarke's eyes widened. " _What_?"

"They're wet, they can't be helping. We need to get you warmed up."

"I'm f-fine!"

"Clarke," he said wearily, straightening up and shrugging off his jacket. "This isn't the time for you to be a martyr. Your lips are going blue."

"It's just bad circulation. I'll be fine when I warm up."

"Right," he said. He tugged off his shirt too. Clarke looked away, but the image of Bellamy Blake leaning over her shirtless in her tent was already seared into her mind. "That's exactly why you need to get undressed."

Clarke made no move to do as he said. He glared down at her, arms folded across his bare chest.

(and glaring wasn't something new, glaring was familiar, but Bellamy usually glared at her because he was concerned about himself, not about her. Bellamy was glaring at her because he cared.)

"It's basic survival knowledge," he said. "Why are you being so difficult? Scared your boyfriend will find out I saved your life?"

Clarke felt her cheeks hot up. "He is _not_ my boyfriend."

"Of course not," he said, jaw tensed.

"Bellamy, I-"

"-don't make me strip you, Princess."

Blush deepening, Clarke unzipped her damp jacket with trembling fingers. Bellamy fixed his eyes on the ceiling while she stripped carefully down to her underwear, didn't look her way until she'd settled back down and pulled a blanket around her to cover herself up. She wasn't sure why she was suddenly so shy around him; it wasn't like they hadn't spent the last couple of months living in close quarters. Bellamy had seen her at her absolute lowest and he was still here tonight, still trying to protect her. _For the good of the camp_ , she reminded herself. She was the medic. They needed her.

"Happy?" she said finally.

Bellamy looked down from the ceiling, found her eyes in the near-darkness. "I'll be happier when you warm up."

"I feel better already," Clarke admitted, and it wasn't even a lie. It felt good not to have the damp clothes sticking to her.

He said nothing. Clarke got herself comfortable, cocooning herself in the blanket. She listened to the sound of his quiet breathing, focussed on it over the sound of the rain still pounding down outside. Bellamy cared about her. Bellamy wanted to protect her. Bellamy didn't care about anybody except himself and Octavia. She couldn't stop thinking about how worried he'd sounded, how he'd looked hovering above her. Strong and tanned and so much sweeter than he'd ever given him credit for.

Just as she was about to drift off to sleep, she felt him shifting across the tent, felt him moving closer until he was right by her side. Clarke could feel the head emanating off of him. He seemed to hesitate, and then he was lying down beside her, snaking a careful arm around her and pulling her in gently until she was pressed flush against his chest.

Clarke froze. "What...what are you doing?"

"You're still shivering, Princess. Basic survival knowledge. Don't overthink it."

She forced herself to relax, allowed herself to melt back into him, soak up his warmth and let it chase away her shivers. She refused to think about how well they fitted together, refused to think about how he felt pressed against her back, how she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. Wordlessly, he tightened his arms around her. There was something both overwhelmingly familiar and entirely new about lying there with him in the dark, trusting him implicitly to look after her. There was a different warmth inside her chest now, and it took a while for her to place the feeling; for the first time in weeks Clarke actually felt _safe_.

After a minute, s he found his hand wrapped around her and tangled their fingers together. _Thank you_. 

"Sleep," he ordered quietly. "They need you healthy."

Clarke let her eyelids flutter closed. Within moments, she was asleep.

" _I_ need you," Bellamy added softly into the darkness.

* * *

The rain finally ceased in the early hours of the morning. Clarke woke up to watery sunlight streaming in the through the crack in the top of the tent, a clear head and Bellamy nuzzled into her neck. She smiled to herself, and fell back asleep.

 

**Author's Note:**

> on tumblr @ [hustleandsin](http://www.hustleandsin.tumblr.com/)


End file.
